Guatemala — Land of Fire
Active volcanoes, burning devils, and birds with flame-red breasts.
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Every December 7 at 6 pm sharp, Guatemalans burn a devil in effigy to herald the beginning of the holy Christmas season. In Antigua, the Quema del Diablo (literally “burning of the devil”) festival purports to cleanse the whole town of evil. In a central square, a man-sized, papier-mache devil squats in front of a pentagon unwittingly posing for selfies. 2022’s key festival figure is a nasty looking bloke with a defiant sneer and a rat clinging to his shoulder. Streets fill with revelers as the carnival atmosphere escalates leading up to the big burn. Firefighters gather. Kids and adults alike don light-up devil horns and official “demons” wander through and work the crowd. As the burning hour approaches, the streets fill to capacity and workers drape roll upon roll of firecrackers over del diablo. I begin to question my close proximity as I anticipate the noise. When a worker hoists a 5-gallon can of kerosene, my eyes widen and I hurriedly retreat half a block. Deafening explosions rock my skull as my nostrils tingle with sulfur. Turning back, I’m mesmerized by the heat and light of the massive bonfire.
I consider myself a decent hiker. I don’t shirk from altitude and steep climbs. But the silt-like lava ash of Acatenango almost reduced me to tears. The first 11,000-foot clamber through dense vegetation and cloud forest to base camp was challenging but fun. And, multiple lava eruptions from nearby Fuego made a night shivering in a tent much more than bearable. We scrambled out at each rumble and watched the sky fill with fire. I slept fitfully but in good cheer listening to frozen cinders pelt the thin canvas walls. All those things I met with wonder. I was hiking a volcano, after all! The remaining 2000-foot ascent in the pre-dawn dark is what nearly broke me. My rock-hopper sneakers were no match for the trail of deep ash. I couldn’t gain purchase and slip-slid in the silt, breathing hard. The group moved on as I fell behind. Our guide, Bennie, checked on me over and over. My reaction was guilt and frustration. Tears pricked behind my eyes. It. Was. Tough. But I made it. Was it worth it when sunrise brought Fuego out from the shadows and lit the sky pink and orange? Yes, yes, it was.
Guatemalans revere the Resplendent Quetzal. This tropical bird with 30-inch, electric-blue tail feathers and a punk rock hairdo stars in Mayan folklore and even provides the name for the nation’s currency. But spotting one of these endangered beauties in the wild is damn near impossible. The rainforest reserves of the Alta Verapaz are a traveler’s best bet. On the day of our visit, however, we held out little hope. Drizzly weather meant the birds were hunkered down and hard to spot. Resigning ourselves, we focused on enjoying the reserve’s other charms — ferns as large as a pot-bellied pigs and raindrops suspended from fully intact spiderwebs. Just as we were leaving, a reserve worker named Boro called to us and pointed out a flash of scarlet high in a tree branch. And there he was — ducking behind hanging moss and giving us the stink eye. As I gazed at the magnificent creature in all his glory, I found myself holding my breathe as not to spook him.
